


The Hanged Man

by imitationicarus



Series: Chapter 14: The Cure for Insomnia [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Chapter 14, Chocobros - Freeform, I made ffxv sadder, Sadness, Spoilers, a little glimmer of happiness, and better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 04:04:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11394975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitationicarus/pseuds/imitationicarus
Summary: In his youth, Noctis was effective in telling everyone what he was thinking. In his final moments, however, he thought ten things no one would ever know.





	The Hanged Man

Darkness. It is he and only darkness, another matrimony conceived of ill intentions. The abyss around him seems to draw the lines gaunter in the room; and no matter how hard he squints, he cannot imagine his father reclining in the vessel of his power, his throne. If darkness had a persona, Noctis would have already ripped its throat out; but he decides Ardyn is a good enough replacement.

Quiet footsteps cross the threshold. What was once a small boy struggling not to succumb to the haste of his own feet is replaced with a man, his back erect and his pace slow. A hand glides along the railing, what remained of it at least, seeking the imprints of his father’s hands. But the darkness baptized this place and washed away everything he so dearly loved.

Noctis could not feel his father anywhere.

The throne looms before him; and if he blinks too fast, he sees the gravestone of his mother with the pretty flowers delivered from Tenebrae heaped upon it. He briefly touches the arm of the chair, still lacking the warmth of his parents, even in the place they would have inhabited the greatest.

The prince knows there will only be one place his father and his mother will meet him again as he slips into the chair.

He doesn’t feel like much of a king.

A small child sits in a wheelchair, trying fervently to raise to his feet. That’s what he is, a child like the one he used to be at Tenebrae just struggling to stay afloat amongst the circumstances. He can’t help but thumb at his photo, untucking it from his pocket just enough to catch their faces.

Back when Prompto was happy.

Back before Gladio’s new scars.

Back before Ignis’s injury.

Back when Noctis was a groom-to-be and not a lamb for the slaughter.

He is confronted with that darkness—the fact that in this room, within the walls he once called and cherished as his home, he would now be calling his grave. Noctis Lucis Caelum only thinks 10 things in these final moments as he summons his blade.

Thought No. 1: Why couldn’t he be a better son?

He punctures the base of the throne with the anger left in that age, when he was no less a punk, shirking his duties and meetings in favor of video games with Prompto. It is the frustration that Noctis feels, the one with sharper hair and reflective eyes, the one who regretted every moment since the morning spent at Galadin Quay wondering what became of his father’s kingdom. He is sucked into that moment of his irresponsibility.

It burns more than the puncture of the first sword. It punches him in the gut with just enough force that he doubles over and wheezes. But the younger Noctis, one thing he had going for him is he is too stubborn to submit to something like giving up. He relaxes in his chair.

Thought No. 2: Why couldn’t he be a better prince?

Being stubborn doesn’t make him immune. The next sting has him digging his fingers tightly into the hilt, wondering why he could never suck it up when he was younger and help his father out, his very father that probably suffered all the same on this throne to keep him safe. And he even sent him off, already aware of the future, to protect him despite it all.

Why protect a spoiled brat, chosen king or not?  

He grits his teeth hard. He remembers all the ignored calls from Ignis. He remembers the one time the Kingsglaive stopped an escape attempt when he drove his car recklessly towards the Insomnian border. He remembers the piles of reports and notes littering his apartment, becoming more of a decorative feature each day he continued to ignore them. He even remembers feeling smug when Ignis would come in, release a dramatic sigh, and fill out any paperwork he had abandoned in favor of mobile games.

What kind of prince would do that?

That’s the thing.

No prince would.

Thought No. 3: Why couldn’t he have protected everyone?

His head jolts back, striking the headrest as he accepts another weapon into his body, their faces appearing in the shimmer as it dissolves before him; the haze in his vision gives their faces the high definition of his guilty conscious. Mother. Father. Nyx. Jared.

Luna.

He has to hold in a cry at the next puncture. Luna, oh Luna—he had considered her as a sister, and like the rest of his family, she was slaughtered all because he existed. Why was he even born the chosen king if his very existence reaps the worst kind of horror on everyone he knows and loves? Is that why so many people he loved died?

Is that why Ignis is blind?

Thought No. 4: Why did Gladio think he was the one who was weak?

It is obvious in the way Noctis’s body convulsed from the next pain that he is truly the weak one. He is pitiful in all categories, but overwhelmingly so, he is weak in the mind. He is quick to swell with anger, with ignorance. He is quick to hop in the car and step on the gas every time things got tough. Everything Gladio says about him is right. How could a weak king ever hope to save people? How could a weak king ever hope to conquer this darkness?

For a moment, Noctis wavers. He is not ready.

But the swords do not stop.

Thought No. 5: He is going to die.

He feels like he is numb all over, the blood stalling by the very fear that nestles in his throat. He is really going to die in that throne room; and it is like the little kid is back again, but instead of a darkness, there is fire and the scent of iron drilled into his nostrils. The weight on his shoulders is not his weakened body failing him, but that of his mother and the self-sacrificial way fate had her succumb to—

Noctis jolts forward in his seat, his hand tightening to an iron-white grasp on the handle of his weapon, his breath coming out sharp. He can’t think like that. He can’t think of dying right now.

Because if he does, he might not go through with it.

Thought No. 6: He hopes his friend will make it out of Insomnia if he fails.

He hopes they will go back to Hammerhead, go their respective ways, and forget about him. He slackens his jaw a little, his eyes fixated and tracing the next weapon as it pierces him. If he has anything to say about it, they will see the light. After all the goddamn suffering he put them through, he will give them back their world.

It will be his first and last duty as king.

Noctis will not accept failure. Not now. Not when his father, if faced with the same position, would take a hundred swords to save them. His friends would give their lives to Noctis.

It is the King’s duty to return the favor.

Thought No. 7: What will happen when he dies?

It is getting harder to breathe, getting hard to not slump over and beg for respite. He feels like blood is pouring out in buckets as a chill creeps up his body, even though he didn’t spill a drop. He knows with a slight distasteful pucker of his lips that Ardyn will be in the beyond, as Noctis is forced to chase after him. But what is beyond that? Is there an afterlife like the one Luna talked so enthusiastically about within the underbrush of the place he learned to love? Would his mother and father be waiting as he remembers them? His father, the gleeful man at Tenebrae that would pick him up from his chair and spin him around? His mother in her regal clothes, appearing at the right moment to chastise his father for his careless handling only to produce a bit of desert for Noctis’s enjoyment?

His heart pauses for a second too long, as hesitant as the next blade.

Would Luna be there too?

Thought No. 8: Could he even face her?

His grip releases on its own accord, dropping the sword to the floor. He struggles to suck in air, the crushing darkness now sitting on his chest. Luna. The one person he wanted to protect. The person he failed to do so. He can still feel the pressure of her dying in his arms. Through the pain, he manages a different type of grimace. Through his existence, he murdered both Lunafreya and Ravus not once, but twice, probably thrice if he thought on it. Once at Tenebrae. Twice to the innate calling of their duties to serve the chosen king, and thrice to Ardyn.

Ardyn.

His exhale tastes like pure fire. Ardyn, who attacked Gladio. Ardyn, who belittled Ignis, who attempted to kill them both had it not been for Gentiana’s intervention. Ardyn, the man who kidnapped Prompto.

Their faces flash in his mind as he grabs his sword again, and with a mighty heave, settles it back into place. The pain wracks his body, but not as much as his thirst to right the wrongs of Ardyn Izunia, the man who brought the darkness.

Thought No. 9: He would be successful.

He would beat Ardyn, for all of them; Ignis, Gladio, Prompto, his father, mother, Luna—he almost welcomes the final sword to come.

It doesn’t take long for it to soar, but instead of dissipating into magic, it remains solid as it penetrates his stomach. The pain is too much, the darkness swallowing him into its big and ugly mouth. He feels himself spiraling out of control, his last thought left unfinished, unexamined; a final chapter that leaves an unsatisfied taste as Noctis ascends to the words beyond, and his body slumps on the throne.

Thought No. 10: But why does he have to leave his friends behind?

They too wonder the same thing when ten years of darkness drives those not accustomed to the onslaught of the light into the throne room. Prompto, Gladiolus, and Ignis find him very much in the place they expected him to be.

As Ardyn Izunia was the man who brought the darkness, Noctis Lucis Caelum was the man who carried the light.

Prompto climbs the steps to retrieve his only friend, easing the sword out of his body. The picture flutters from his pocket, still intact and reflective of a different time and a different place, where all three of them could be together. Prompto pauses and studies his friend, as if he was the picture, his breath catching in his throat.

“H-hey guys…”

Ignis’s head tilts in his direction, and Gladio fixes his eyes on him.

The King has returned to his rightful place.

“I…I think Noctis is still breathing…”

**Author's Note:**

> So, this received some positivity on Fanfiction and several asks for a sequel. I'm posting this here because I am currently working on the sequel and will be posting it both here and on Fanfiction. I hope you enjoyed.


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